


Burn the Ashes

by pleasure_to_burn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eventual Smut, Fahrenheit 451 AU, M/M, More tags will be added as the story progresses, Slow Build, ending will somewhat mirror the book so expect that level of violence, fireman!cas, mechanic!Dean, some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 23:37:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasure_to_burn/pseuds/pleasure_to_burn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fahrenheit 451 AU. In a society where firemen burn books instead of fight fires, Castiel Allen has been performing his role as a fireman with perfect precision for the past 10 years. All of that changes when two brothers move in across the street and show him that everything about the society they live in is not at all what it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So this is my first fanfic ever and I've been wanting to write this crossover/Au for a while now. Let me know what you think and thanks for reading!

Chapter 1

     As soon as the subway door slid open, Castiel’s ears were assaulted by the sickeningly sweet tune of _whatever the hell_ brand toothpaste that was currently blasting at full volume within the tube. He pushed his way forward into the subway, past all of the other individuals who hurried to and fro in a frenzy in order to reach their destination that much earlier. He found a seat in one of the less occupied compartments, as far away as he could from the trilling speakers that continued to spout nonsense about the merits of _blah-blah_ brand toothpaste.

 

      Across the compartment from him sat a wispy looking woman with her long blonde hair done up in the latest style. She had not even acknowledged Castiel’s presence as sat down near her; she was solely focused on the tide of music and “world news” being swept into her mind by her seashell radio she that rested in her ear. He sighed and reminded himself that at least she wasn’t the worst subway companion he had encountered, not by a long shot.

 

     While the subway rattled on towards its eventual destination, Castiel relaxed a little in his seat and closed his eyes, mentally going over all that had transpired at work that day at the fire station and what awaited him when he arrived at his hollow, empty house. He slowly opened his eyes again, took out the silver lighter in his pocket and began flicking it on and off… on and off…on and off… letting the flame burn brightly for just a brief moment before letting it flicker out again.

.

     Castiel Allen was a fireman, which meant that his job consisted of burning and confiscating books and often the residences in which they were found. He loved his job; he loved the thrill when the alarm went off signaling a call to action, the heat from the flames as they sprung up around him like exotic wildflowers, and the smell of kerosene they anointed each chosen house with before the burn. The heady scent of the substance never seemed to rid itself from deep within Castiel’s skin, even becoming a kind of cologne for the man it seemed.

 

      He had been working for the city’s fire department under Captain Michael Milton for about 10 years; make that exactly 10 years, starting when he was still a fresh-faced and devoted man of 20 who saw nothing but the glamour of the occupation. At the time, nothing seemed better than following in his father’s footsteps and becoming a fireman himself. It seemed so enchanting to his eager mind; the uniform that symbolized his duty to enforce the ban on books in order to save society from itself and preserve the status quo, though the power and prestige were perks that even Castiel could not deny found alluring.

 

     After what felt like an eternity and a half, Castiel felt the subway begin to slow down as a syrupy sing-song voice overhead proclaimed that the train had finally reached his stop. Upon hearing the announcement, he carefully pocketed the lighter into the depths of his trench coat, stood up and exited the compartment while sparing one last look at the waifish woman who still had not even looked at him once. A few other individuals had also exited at this station, but Castiel’s walk home took him in the opposite direction as the rest of the tawdry crowd.   

 

     With an even, confident gait, he set off down the cracked and mangled sidewalk that made up the two blocks he had to brave to make it home. As it was a mild September afternoon, the wind whisked leaves from the alder trees along the path as Castiel continued on; he spared a passing thought about what it would be like to be one of those leaves, carried on only by the wind, no attachments or cares, and not knowing one’s fate… he quickly abandoned that train of thought.

 

     He turned the final corner that lead onto his street, picking up his pace slightly as he grew closer and closer to his destination. Castiel’s street was not much different than the surrounding neighborhoods; it was comprised of nearly identical two story houses that were all variations of the indistinctive gray, expect for the one beige wildcard directly across from Castiel’s, and neatly manicured lawns. By now, the sun had sunken low in the sky so that the street was illuminated solely by the fast fading twilight rays since the street lights had not yet clicked on. It bathed the surrounding houses in an otherworldly light as it made the buildings appear translucent against the world around them. As he hurried down the broken pavement, Castiel noticed that there was a strange car parked in front of the house directly across from his; it was shiny, black beast of a car that was clearly from a different era than sleek, slim cars that most people seemed to zip around the city in. He had never seen that car before in the neighborhood so he wondered who it could possibly belong to since the previous inhabitants had moved out less than a week prior.

 

            Just as he was reaching his front yard, Castiel received the answer to his question. He observed a tall man with light brown hair, dressed in a gray plaid shirt and worn out jeans, stride out of the house and down towards the car where he bent down into the trunk to retrieve a large cardboard box. The man then turned back towards the house to yell something directed at someone inside the dwelling that Castiel could not make out. Castiel was intrigued by this unknown man, who most likely was his new neighbor and he would have to see the man occasionally, so he concluded that it was best to make the man’s acquaintance as soon as possible.

 

            Upon reaching this decision, Castiel marched himself across the empty street and right up to where the unfamiliar man was currently digging around in the trunk trying to rescue another box from the overstuffed car.  As he was walking towards the stranger, Castiel just happened to glance at the long line of the man’s muscular back as he bent forward into the car as well as his powerful yet slightly bowed legs that swept gracefully up to shape that beautiful ass that Castiel suddenly couldn’t take his eyes off of. “ _Get a grip, you haven’t even met the man yet,”_ Castiel mentally chastised himself. Feeling the blood rushing to his face over his unbecoming behavior, he shook off his momentary lapse and cleared his throat, hoping that the mystery man would hear. Belatedly, Castiel noted that the man in question had not noticed his presence so he decided to take matters into his own hands.

 

“Hello there,” Castiel stated in a clear tone as he stood almost directly behind the man who currently still had his head buried in the car trunk. Immediately the man jerked upwards, hitting his head on the roof the trunk and let out a stream of curse words that would have made a sailor blush which instantaneously made Castiel regret this course of action. The man finally drew himself up to full height, which turned out to be just a few inches taller than Castiel, and turned to face him for the first time.

 

All Castiel could process for what seemed like eternity was the color green; a rich hue that seemed to be a kaleidoscope that encompassed every possible shade of that verdant color. It took him an embarrassing stretch of time to realize that he was blatantly staring into the eyes of his mystery man and that they were currently less than a foot apart thanks to the man’s sudden movement.

 

“Woah, buddy you scared the crap out of me!”

 

Castiel listened to the sound of the stranger’s sonorous voice, which was a tone just slightly above gravely, before he finally processed what the man was saying. He then replied,

 

“My apologies, that was not my intent,” Castiel muttered, clearly embarrassed by his behavior as he felt the blood rushing to his cheeks like he was still a hormonal teenager.

 

“It’s cool man, no big deal. Dean Winchester, by the way.”

 

“Hello Dean, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Castiel…. Castiel Allen.”

 

“Well that’s one hell of a name you got there Cas,” the man quipped.

 

            Castiel simply sighed, sensing the beginning of an evidently ageless issue, and stated, “If you must know, it is family name. Apparently from some great uncle that I never met.” This wasn’t the first time that his name had been mocked; there was seemingly a lot to be said about the mindsets of young children and 30 year old men and their capricious ways.

 

            “I didn’t say it was a bad name, just an unusual one,” Dean replied in a placating tone, suddenly aware of Castiel’s sensitivity about this topic. In order to save the conversation, he asked, “So Cas, you must be one of my new neighbors then? Anything interesting I should know about my new community then?”

 

            “Yes I do live in the vicinity, my house is the one directly across from yours,” Castiel informs him while pointed to an unobtrusive looking light gray house with a sprawling cottonwood tree loomed in the front yard. As Dean attention is focused on the house, Castiel catches the last rays of twilight as they illuminate his new neighbor’s eyes and make them shine like emeralds. It filtered through Dean’s shortly cropped hair, making it appear golden against the otherwise drab street.

 

            Suddenly a voice erupts from inside the tan house. “Dean, you better not be hiding out there! Where the hell are those last boxes?”

 

            “Quit your whining Sammy, I will be there in a second,” Dean yells in the general vicinity of the house.

 

            He returns his attention back to Castiel and remarks with a smirk, “Damn, I’ve been ratted out. I will be seeing you around quite a bit then, neighbor.”

 

            Dean hoists the overstuffed cardboard box into his arms and gives Castiel a wink before he casually saunters his way back into the beige dwelling. Again, Castiel makes a careful observation of the slight bow in his new neighbor’s legs and finds that he has a growing appreciation of that particular quirk of the man’s physique.

 

            After Dean entered his house, Castiel shakes himself out of his momentary stupor and noiselessly completes the short walk back to his gray house across the street. He carefully unlocks the door and slides into the dark, cavern like interior of the house; the inside is cold and almost seems like a mausoleum with its mocking silence after his animated interactions with Dean just moments ago.

 

            Castiel flicks on a few lights that cast just enough light to illuminate the inside of the house in a shadowy haze as he shrugs out of the tan trench coat that he habitually wears over the top of his navy fireman’s uniform for his commute.

 

            He traverses his way down the dim hallway that leads to his bedroom in the back of the house while his mind went over his interactions with Dean yet again; he seemed to be on autopilot as he peeled away his uniform and carefully placed it the sparsely filled closet. Dean was obviously an extremely attractive man and Castiel was sure that he had no shortages of lovers of either sex, yet Castiel could not help but feel like that there was more to his neighbor than he had observed that evening.

 

            He climbed into his large bed wearing only his simple white boxers and buried himself under the mountain of covers. As he lay surrounded by blankets, he could hear the ticking of the plain black clock mounted on the wall across the room; the silence that stole through the rest of the house seemed like a weight that pressed upon Castiel’s chest that slowly grew more and more oppressive as the moments ticked by. _Tick tick tick tick_ …

 

            All at once, the weight seemed too heavy for Castiel to bear and he reached over to grab the small sea-shell sized radio that fit perfectly into his ear that rested on the nightstand by his bed. He shoved into his ear and turned it on, hoping to drown out the steady silence that lurked inside his desolate house.

 

            With the soft voices whispering in his ears sounding like distant waves crashing on the beach and the silence vanquished, Castiel was swept off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Here's the next chapter so enjoy the brother bonding time!

     Dean trumped his way back towards the boring old beige house that was to be his new home for the foreseeable future. “Damn meddling little brother, just when I was starting to make progress,” he grumbled to himself as he walked through the front door and dropped the box carelessly upon their careworn wooden kitchen table, as it was the only furniture in the room at the moment.

     “Here’s that damn box you so desperately needed,” Dean groused as he carefully wove his way around piles of cardboard and other packing minutia that littered the rest of the kitchen and down the hallway that leads to the rest of house.

     “Finally, what took you so long?” Sam’s voice returned from even further inside the house.

     “Well sorry to keep you waiting princess,” Dean quipped back. “If you must know, one of our new neighbors scared the crap out of me while I was grabbing the last box.”

     “What, they sneak up on you? You must be losing your touch Dean,” Sam remarks as he steps out from the back bedroom of their new house and into the hallway. He walks down the long corridor towards the kitchen in order to grab the box full of his clothes in a vain attempt to make the house less cluttered.

     “Bitch please, like that could ever happen Sammy. Seriously, the guy must be some sort of ninja or something, he just appeared out of thin air…it was freaky,” Dean replies with a shutter as he rummages through the nearest box to him in order to determine its contents.

     “Yeah, I’m sure he was very sneaky,” Sam scoffs. “So this ninja got a name, or did he disappear into thin air before you got the chance?”

     “Ha ha laugh it up. And his name is really weird…Castiel or something like that,” Dean replies with a wave of his hand.

     “Sounds biblical in origin to me, possibly the name of an angel,” Sam muses in return. “Do you think he’s aware of that fact?”

     “I’m pretty sure that’s a no, considering the fact that our new neighbor is a fireman,” Dean informs him with a wry smile.

     “You’ve got to be joking,” Sam whispers hoarsely as the blood drains from his face. “Of course we move to a brand new city only to have our neighbor be a goddamn fireman.”

     “Dude I know, it’s just our luck. But something tells me that this guy isn’t your typical firebug,” Dean counters in an attempt to calm his younger brother. Even during their brief conversation, he could tell that Cas wasn’t just another mindless member of their warped society; he was smart and inquisitive as well as drop dead gorgeous which certainly was a plus in Dean’s book.

     “Oh what, you got this guy’s life story in the manner of five minutes Dean? I’m so glad we can trust your feelings on this one,” Sam argues sarcastically.

     “Yeah, me and Cas are best buddies now, with friendship bracelets and everything.” Dean retorts. “I’m just saying that there is no reason for us to freak out now, he got no reason to suspect anything and we are going to keep it that way.”

     “Dude this is serious, this could be really bad news for us. We need to be careful around this guy, you hear me?” Sam implores.

     “You don’t think I know that, I’m not stupid Sam,” Dean growls back as he grabs the nearest box and stalks out of the kitchen towards the stairs. He can’t believe that Sam is the one lecturing him about the potential danger of their neighbor being a fireman; he is well aware of the harm that would befall both of them if their secret was found out.

     “I’m not saying that you are, I just want you to be wary around this guy for now,” Sam calls after Dean as he whisks out of the kitchen.

     He marches up the stairs and into the back bedroom that he had claimed the first time that the brothers had toured the house. A small pile of cardboard boxes and a few pieces of mismatched wooden furniture are scattered over the floor of the small room; it’s weird to see all of his worldly possessions summed up in front of him. With a sigh, Dean begins to unpack and set up his new room.

     As Dean began emptying the contents of boxes, he can’t help but wonder about his mysterious new neighbor and his possible impact on his and Sam’s lives. When the guy had appeared behind him with that dragged over gravel voice, Dean was not expecting to see a man just slightly shorter than himself with the brightest blue eyes that he had ever seen in his entire life. For a moment, that was all that Dean could process; the guy’s eyes were like the sea after a storm or some shit like that. After his mind caught back up with the rest of his body, his eyes flicked down to see that the guy was wearing some sort of uniform but the guy was standing too close to make out what kind... “though it was a good look on him,” Dean thought.

     It wasn’t until the guy took a step back that Dean finally noticed the salamander and phoenix designs on the sleeve of the uniform that the panic set in. Those two symbols marked Castiel as one of those pyro idiots that were responsible for burning thousands of years of knowledge without a second glance. The guy seemed like he was intelligent though, not just one of the mindless drones that made up the rest of their society so Dean really didn’t know what to think about this guy. Logically Dean knew that he should stay as far away from Castiel as possible for both his and Sam’s sake, and yet he kept getting caught up in the guy’s whiskey soaked voice and bright blue eyes.

     Dean continued to slowly work his way through each box that littered his floor, placing his ever-growing collection of plaid and Henley t-shirts into the cramped closet while the rest of the clothes were placed into a small dresser on the opposite side of the room. He was still pissed about what Sam had said to him too; he had acted like Dean had lost his damn mind, even though Dean was the one that had made sure that they had got this far in the first place. He had learned how to keep the two of them out of trouble long ago and it’s not like he was going to forget that because some hot guy lived across the street.

     After the clothes were put away, Dean moved on to setting up his bed and placing the few pictures he had around the room. The bedframe took forever and a day to finally get set up since several of the screws seemed to have vanished during transit forcing Dean to search around the house for spares. A small framed picture of the entire Winchester family was placed carefully on the bedside table; it was one of the only pictures that had survived of the family of four and it was one of Dean’s most prized possessions. It showed an infant Sammy swaddled up in a blanket being held by a smiling Mary Winchester with a toddler Dean laughing on top of John Winchester’s shoulders standing right next to her outside of the family’s old house.

     He looked down at his watch to see what time it was only to find that it was just past midnight, the hours seemed to have flown away while he was busy unpacking. Dean was sure that his sasquatch of a brother was already passed out downstairs in his room since Sam was one of those chipper morning people. He figured that it was time for him to hit the sack since tomorrow he started his new job as a mechanic at Bobby Singer’s auto shop bright and early; he was so not looking forward to that. After the boys had decided it was time for a change of scenery, Dean had asked his old boss Rufus for a recommendation and the grizzled mechanic had sent him in the direction of one Bobby Singer who had hired him on the spot.

     There was one last box that’s contents needed to be sorted and Dean had been dreading opening this box since the moment he had discovered that his new neighbor just so happened to be a firebug. He ripped the packing tape off that was holding the box closed and reached in to grab the nearest object in order to begin sorting the contents within. He slowly withdrew an original copy of Milton’s Paradise Lost, followed by Dante’s The Inferno and placed them on the bed for now.

     “How fucking ironic,” Dean thought to himself, laughing inwardly at the two biblical based books being chosen first after meeting his own angel this afternoon.

     With that thought running through his head, Dean placed the books back into the box and pushed them under the bed for now. His day had been stressful enough and he didn’t want to deal with the books on top of everything else; he crawled into bed and passed out with thoughts of his blue eyed neighbor pervading his mind.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry this took so long to update but school and such became hell for a bit. Hope you enjoy and feel free to comment!
> 
> P.S. I fixed some things in this chapter that bothered me when I originally posted it so the ending has changed slightly

Chapter 3

 

            **_Beep-beep-beep-beep_** _!_

 

            Castiel startled awake to an alarm clock blaring too closely to his ears. With a smack to the offending device, he returned the room back into a peaceful quiet. With a sigh, he rolled out of his still warm bed while simultaneously getting tangled in an errant blanket and landed with a loud thud upon the floor. “ _Fantastic way to start the morning,_ ” he grumbled as he picked himself carefully up from the floor and shuffled his way towards the kitchen.

          

          He slowly meandered down the long hallway, rubbing his sure to be bruised tailbone and still griping to himself until he reached the kitchen where his morning coffee was waiting for him. Castiel was in no way a morning person and his mishaps today seemed to be proving his theory that no individual should be functional before 9 a.m. He made himself a quick breakfast while sipping his coffee carefully in order to prevent a burnt tongue from being added to his list of today’s morning injuries. In between bites of slightly burnt toast and the bitter coffee, Castiel sluggishly worked his way towards full consciousness.

 

            Feeling much more human, Castiel meticulously went through the rest of his morning routine of preparing himself for another day at the firehouse. He donned his crisp navy blue uniform that set him apart from the average citizen and took one last look in the mirror before departing. Per usual, his hair decided to defy gravity and the laws of physics simultaneously so he decided it was best to not to make it worse by attempting to comb it. He grabbed his favorite tan overcoat and marched himself out the door, ready to face the world.

 

            As he strode down the street towards the nearest subway station, he couldn’t help but notice the absence of a certain sleek black automobile that should have been parked across the street from his house. Castiel slowed to a stop; he had only met his new neighbor once and yet it seemed that Dean Winchester had always inhabited that section of the world. “ _Get a grip, you barely know the man,”_ Castiel chastised mentally. He shook himself and continued on his way.

 

            The rest of his commute to the station was rather uneventful. The monotony of the ride was broken only by his observations of a young mother and her toddler that occupied the seats directly across from him. They seemed to be on their way to visit some relative, judging by their rather ostentatious outfits that stuck out against the sea of suits on the subway. He watched as the rambunctious child tried desperately to gain her mother’s attention while the mother was caught up in her own dream land with two seashell radios and her morning paper keeping her company. It was only when the young girl’s behavior was about to boil over into a full-blown tantrum did the mother even acknowledge that the child was even there. Shortly after the outburst, the subway arrives at his destination. The tube doors slide open as he quickly dashed his way through the crowds and exited the compartment.

 

            He briskly walked the remaining block to the fire station; he hardly passed a single person on the street but the cars on the street seemed to be a never ending stream of silver that raced toward their destination. Overhead, the sound of jets overtook everything in the vicinity as they raced onwards. Castiel rounds a final corner and the squat brick building that houses the fire station comes into view.

            As he enters through the open vehicle bay and walks past the gleaming burnt orange fire engines, the muted din of the voices of his fellow firemen drifts down from the floors above. The muffled sounds quickly grow into what seems like several shouting matches as Castiel makes his way cautiously up the metal spiral stairs towards the rec room where the others are no doubt embroiled in some sort of petty debate about some card game or what’s on the television screens this morning. With a sigh, he pushes open the door and immediately takes in the chaos that seems to have already enveloped the room.

 

            “There is no _fucking_ way that you aren’t cheating; that hand wasn’t even possible!” a snarky British voice erupted from across the room. _“Oh dear lord, Balthazar and Gabriel can’t keep their mouths shut for five minutes,”_ Castiel silently bemoans to himself. He only hopes that he can make it across the spacious room without incident.

           

            “Hate to break it to you bucko, but the only way I could have even done that was to pull the damn cards out of my ass,” Gabriel shot back with a dramatic wiggling of the hips.

 

            “Coming from you that wouldn’t be surprising at all.”

 

            “Ok new rule; all poker games have to start with a full cavity search from now on.”

 

            “Sounds like a great time, nothing says workplace bonding like a little friendly probing,” Balthazar retorts. “Well well well, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence?”

 

            Just as Castiel nears an unoccupied corner of the large room, all eyes turn in his direction upon hearing Balthazar’s snide comment. Most of the time Castiel considers Balthazar to be one of his closest friends and finds his antics amusing, but at the moment, he is more concerned with trying to make Balthazar’s head explode with his stare. Sadly, it didn’t work.

 

            “Hello Balthazar,” Castiel mumbles grumpily as he reaches for the coffee pot on the empty table; he has a feeling he is going to need much more than two cups to make it through the day.

 

            “Someone sure is chipper this morning, eh boys?” Gabriel taunts after suddenly materializing next to Castiel’s left ear. “What, did someone step in a puddle or kick a puppy on their way to work or something?”

 

            “Good morning Gabriel, as always I appreciate the obvious concern and I can assure you that nothing of the sort happened,” Castiel replies in a clipped tone. Most of the time Gabriel acts like the pestering older brother that Castiel never wanted- when Castiel began his career as a fireman, it was Gabriel who took it upon himself to teach him the ropes of the job while also educating him in other various illegal activities.

 

            “Look at you, all sassafras and fired up- maybe little Cassie will learn how to real boy after all,” Gabriel remarks as a wide Cheshire grin splits his face in two.

 

            “Ah Gabe, let the poor kid alone for once and go torment someone your own size,” Balthazar’s voice called from across the room. To Castiel, it was music to ears.

 

            “What’s the fun in that? Nobody around here is even close to fun-sized like me!” Gabriel sighed dramatically and flings himself into an empty chair like one of the actors on the television screen dramas.

 

            “Maybe then we would finally get some peace for once!”

 

            There was a general mumbling of agreement from around the room following Balthazar’s declaration and that was followed quickly by a sudden silence that fell like a shadow over the entire room. Castiel craned his neck towards the door in order to ascertain who was the cause of the abrupt silence, only to find a meticulously dressed Captain Michael Milton striding towards the center of the spacious room.

            “I trust that I’m not interrupting something important gentlemen,” Michael’s perpetually tranquil voice cut sharply through the silence, “but we have some pressing matters to attend to at the moment.” His cool blue eyes surveyed the entire room before continuing. “We have information about a large quantity of books being held by some misguided soul on Montag Street; we must act quickly in order to preserve the delicate peace that we have strived arduously to maintain.”

 

            Without another word, he strode out of the room with the same air of conviction that he had entered with. For a moment, the room seemed frozen. Then, all chaos broke loose as each individual scrambled to gather their necessary gear and reach the engine as quickly as humanly possible. Castiel donned his fireproof outerwear and strapped his tank of kerosene onto his back as he took his place along the side rails of the engine. When the last member had reached the truck, the driver sped away.

 

            After a few short minutes, they pulled up alongside the house in question. It was a simple white nondescript two story house on a street of other simple white nondescript two story houses; nothing to signal that this house was contaminated with prohibited materials. In accordance to protocol, the owner of the house, one Mr. Faber, had already been removed from the property and taken to await his court sentence. Everyone filed out of the engine and onto the front lawn of the offending house.

 

            The process of ridding a house of books was relatively simple; all it took was some kerosene and the spark of lighter. All houses had been made fireproof for as long as Castiel could remember as a result of their society’s march of progress so that no one had to fear fire any longer. As a unit, they swept through the house locating the contraband books that had been well hidden among the general clutter that engulfed the house. Castiel made himself busy by arranging the books into a pile on the ground floor as Gabriel and Balthazar carelessly flung the books down from the next story- their creamy pages fluttering on their flight downward like they were caught on some summer breeze. He catches one in his hands, caressing its soft worn leather exterior.

 

          As he runs his hands over the careworn material, the urge to read it and discover what secrets it hides flares wildly inside Castiel’s mind. Never before has the temptation to look inside this leather-bound tome burned so intensely as his fingers seem to act of their own accord as the curl around the edges and ever so slightly open the book. His heart pounds as the repercussions of his actions race through his mind and the adrenaline courses through his veins. He opens the front cover and takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm his fraying nerves. The cream colored paper is soft against his fingers as he traces over the elaborate black ink script that covers the page, swirling to form words in a language he simply does not understand.

 

“Hey Cassie, are we ready to go down there?” Gabriel’s sing-song voice yells.

 

            Alarmed, Castiel drops the book as if it were a burning brand. He stares at his traitorous hands, knowing that he is now stained and that somehow the others will know his blasphemous actions. He is startled out of his growing panic by the sound of boots trumping down the stairs to join him and finish the job.

 

            “Sheesh, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Balthazar exclaims as he nears Castiel.

 

            “It’s nothing of import, I’m perfectly fine. Let’s just finish up here.” Castiel replies.

 

            Kerosene is spread all throughout the house, anointing each surface with its sickly sweet smell. It is designed to burn at 451 ˚F, the optimal temperature for cleansing houses of their sins and restoring them to a state of grace. They file out of the house, leaving a trail of kerosene behind them.

 

            “If nobody minds, let’s torch this popsicle stand!” Gabriel cries.

 

            With a flick of his silver lighter, the house erupts into flames. The orange and red flames lick up the sides of the building as the fire grows into an inferno; soon the smoking building will be all that’s left. They stand on the ill-manicured lawn silently admiring their work, each with the ghost of smile creeping onto their countenances at the primal pride the incendiary blaze brings. Castiel watches the flames dance in front of his eyes, their crimson tongues reflected in the pools of his eyes.

          When his shift is finally over late the same night, Castiel still feels the overwhelming heat of the blaze burning dangerously through his skin as though the flames were purging him as well from his traitorous thoughts and making him pure once more. As he closes his eyes, he feels the flames dancing behind his eyes and the sweet stench of kerosene clings to every fiber of his being, becoming almost like a sickening perfume. Eventually he finally manages to fall asleep with the images of a smoldering house collapsing around him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Sorry for waiting so long to update but everything has calmed down for the moment so hopefully those of you that actually read this will get updates sooner! Thanks for reading and comment please!

Chapter 4

 

            _Beep-beep-beep–beep!_

            Dean groans and rolls over in an attempt to avoid the demon disguised as an alarm clock screeches way too loudly on the night stand next to his bed. “ _It’s too fucking early for this shit,”_ he grouses as he hits the snooze button on the alarm. The light filtering in from the window is shining directly onto his face and the sounds of someone stomping around downstairs like a goddamn elephant means that Sammy is already up like the morning freak he is. After a few frustrating minutes of attempting to fall back asleep, he rolls out of bed and stalks his way to the kitchen.

 

            He makes his way into the kitchen where he hopes a magnificent cup of coffee will be waiting for him and possibly some actual breakfast if it was one of the rare occasions when Sam was in the mood for something other than his rabbit food. Sure enough, as he rounds the last corner into the kitchen he spies Sammy hovering over what his stomach certainly hopes to be pancakes on the stove top and makes his way towards the coffee machine.

 

            “Those pancakes better be damn perfect,” Dean grumbles as he peaks over Sammy’s gigantor shoulders to see what was actually in the pan.

 

            “Quit hovering and sit down, they will be done in a minute,” Sam huffs back.

 

            “Fine then, don’t get your panties in a twist Samantha,” Dean retorts as he rummages through the boxes marked “kitchen shit” that have yet to sorted into a proper place in order to find some plates and silverware for them to eat with. After rooting through three different boxes, he finally manages to find them and places them on the table just as Sam is finishing the food. Both brothers sit at the table in the middle of their cluttered kitchen as they scarf down their pancakes in record time, which ends in a fight for who will get to eat the last delicious pancake- Sam wins after a particularly vicious stab a little too close to Dean’s hand for comfort.

 

            “Alright killer, you can have it then,” Dean teases. He glances down at his watch to see that he is already running 20 minutes late to his first shift at the garage and this is not at all how he planned this day going. He scarfs down the rest of his food and drops his dishes into the sink to be washed later.

 

            He flies up the stairs to get ready in a hurry; he dons a well-worn pair of jeans with only a few holes and grabs the nearest plaid shirt out of his closet as he stumbles around the room trying to find where his boots have disappeared to. “ _Shit….Shit…Shit_ … _I’m so fucked!”_ After finally finding one shoe under his bed and the other in his closet, Dean races back down the stairs and out the front door, leaving a bewildered Sammy in his wake.

 

            Dean slides into the Impala and takes off down the street with the engine growling as he speeds towards his new job. This was so not how it was supposed to go. _Fuck_ he had wanted to make a great first impression on his new boss and get off to a good start in this godforsaken town but of course he has already screwed this one up. As he speeds down the freeway, he tries to keep himself calm even as the asshole kids in their parent’s shiny beetle-like cars whiz continually past him going even faster. Eventually he guides the Impala into the parking lot of Singers’s Auto Repairs with only a few minutes to spare. _Thank god…_

            Dean sprints the remaining distance from the parking lot towards the front door of the drably colored single story building and bounds into the lobby with just seconds to spare before he is supposed to meet his new boss. As he enters the shop, he immediately spies a tall redhead wearing a bright yellow sweater behind the counter who seems to think that the answers to life are to be found within the computer that is in front of her. He sidles up and leans against the counter in an attempt to gain her attention.

 

            “Excuse me ma’am, I’m looking for Bobby Singer,” Dean drawls, pulling out the most charming parts of his slight accent to schmooze just a bit. It’s accompanied by dazzlingly handsome smile that never fails with the women, in his opinion.

 

            “Tone it down there killer,” the woman snarks back without looking up from the computer. She finally finishes whatever the hell she was doing and looks up. “You must be Dean, wait here for just a sec while I grab the boss.”

 

            She quickly disappears down a long hallway to his left and Dean is left alone in the rather barren lobby with only a neglected looking ficus tree in the corner to keep him company. _Stupid plant…_

 

            After spending what seemed to be an eternity in a staring match with that damn plant, he finally hears two sets of footsteps coming towards him- one set of heels and one heavy set of footfall that echoes loudly in the mostly empty space. He turns to see the redhead he met already, followed by a gruff looking man in a baseball cap striding in his direction. The man comes to a stop a few feet in front of Dean and simply stares at him for a moment, like he is considering the man’s fate.

 

            “Well are you just going to stand there all day or are you going to get to work sometime soon?” Bobby groused, assuming this was Bobby as that still had not been confirmed.

 

            “Wait, what?” Dean pondered. “Look, I was sent to ask for Bobby Singer, I’m guessing that’s you, and to tell him that Rufus Turner sent me.”

           

            “That old fart mentioned that he was sending me someone that wasn’t a complete idiot by the name of Dean…I’m guessing that’s you but so far I can’t vouch for the part about not being a bonehead,” Bobby retorted.

 

            “That would be me, Dean Winchester,” he introduces as he reaches out to shake the man’s hand. “Hopefully I haven’t royally screwed things up yet.”

 

            “Not yet son, though let’s put you to work and see what you can do underneath the hood,” Bobby concedes as he directs Dean down the hallway towards the garage.

 

            _“Well that certainly went well,”_ Dean muses internally as he is marched into a large spacious garage where there are already two people working under the hoods of nearly identical cars that gleam like they just rolled off the show room floors.

 

            “Hey idjits look alive, we have fresh meat,” Bobby hollers to the two remaining the staff.            

 

The two stand up and make their way towards the group; on the left was tall burly man with a light ginger beard, followed by a small woman with her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. As they approach, Dean feels slightly more intimidated by the blonde as she eyes him with a smirk that makes her seem like a shark on the attack. He draws himself up a bit taller and squares his shoulders as he prepares to be tormented by these two…hell he hasn’t even learned their names yet.

 

“Alright listen up cuz I’m only going to say this once. This here is Dean and he is going to be working with you guys for the foreseeable future so get used to it. Dean, this is Benny and Jo- try to go easy on him guys.” With that final comment, Bobby wades out of the room and abandons Dean to the wolves.

 

“So you’re the new guy, huh?” the blonde, he is guessing that’s Jo, probes as she draws even closer.

 

“Ya that would be me,” Dean replies as he absently scratches the back of his head. He has no idea how to proceed with these two and is almost convinced that he should have just stayed in bed today.

 

“Ah hell Jo let the poor man breathe for moment,” Benny drawls lazily. “The name’s Benny Lafitte and it’s sure nice to meet you brother.”

 

Dean is drawn into a firm handshake as all the tension he had been carrying simply melted away. These two didn’t seem too terrible, and Dean knew he was a damn fine mechanic so he was determined to show these two that he wasn’t some greenhorn who was still wet behind the ears.

 

“Alright so you will be workin’ on this piece of fine machinery with me for today to get this baby up and running,” Benny directs as they near the station that he had been working at before Dean entered. Dean nods in agreement and moves to grab the nearest wrench.

 

Over the course of what seem like endless hours, the two work efficiently together to finish up the repairs on the transmission with only the minor delays caused by Jo’s interrogation halfway through his shift and by a missing part that was a bitch to locate within the shop. They flowed together effortlessly while bouncing ideas about the most effective form of repairs and also learning the basics about each other. After a few hours, Dean learned that Benny was from a city way down south that he had never heard off and honestly doubted still existed as it seemed too idyllic to exist in today’s world. He went on and on about this hamlet where his neighbors would gather each night just to talk about the events of the day and everyone would simply just _be_ \- as opposed to racing around every minute like those in the metropolis around them.

Together they packed up the tools and cleaned up the mess they had made, though they were all covered in oil and grease spots which would be a bitch to get out later. As he packs up the last of his tools, Benny and Jo bade him a quick good bye before darting towards the front door. After finally getting everything in order, Dean gathers up his keys and heads for the exit.

 

His drive back to his damn depressing house takes much shorter than Dean would like. On days like this, he itched with the urge to just take off in the Impala and drive where ever his baby took him without a second though while simply feeling the road slip away from underneath him mile by mile. This 20 minute commute simply was not going to cut it for him. Sooner than he thought, he turned into the driveway just like the domestic home owner that he was destined to play for the foreseeable future.

 

As Dean climbs out of the Impala, he catches a glimpse of a certain tan trench coat and its owner striding in his direction on the opposite side of the street with the world’s largest scowl on his face. He knows that avoiding his Mr. Rule Book neighbor would be the smartest course of action but that has never stopped Dean before. Dean races across the street in order to catch Cas before he is safely ensconced in his own house.

 

“Hey there neighbor,” he calls out just as Cas nears his front door. Cas slowly turns around to face Dean, as if he only then realized that there was someone standing right behind him. He levels Dean with a look that could have sent whole armies running.

 

“Hello Dean,” Cas rattles in his dry monotone voice that seems to hang in the air between them. “I apologize but I have had a rather taxing day and would very much like to go home.”

 

“Oh ok then Cas, I guess that I will see ya later,” Dean mumbles as Cas basically slams the door in his face. With a sigh, he shuffles his way back across the street to his own house still confused about what exactly happened there.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to all you wonderful people that have taken the time to read this! I love all you guys! Hopefully the next chapter won't take me so long to write! Enjoy!!!

Chapter 5

 

            Castiel is on fire.

 

            All around him, the devouring flames dance higher and higher as they lick his skin causing it to blister and blacken. He looks down to see himself atop a mountain of books as their dry paper bones feed the inferno even faster, yet he cannot escape. His feet are rooted amidst the blaze and he is helpless to halt the flames as they engulf more and more of his unscathed skin that remains. The panic sets in as the heat becomes unbearable; he tries desperately to cry out for help only for his mouth to remain firmly shut.

 

            Higher and higher the flames creep as the stench of burning flesh fills the air along with the acrid tang of smoke. He is completely powerless, unable to move as the fire continues to blaze and consume him. With his last coherent thought, he accepts this fate as everything fades to black.

 ------------- 

            Castiel awakes with a jolt, panting and sweating profusely as he tries frantically to untangle himself from the web of blankets he seems to have woven in the middle of the night during his nightmare. With limbs flailing every direction, he finally manages to free himself from the death trap around him without much further damage to both himself and to the traitorous bedding. After obtaining his freedom from the sheets around him, he sits upright in the blinding sunlight as he tries to calm both his breathing and his mind which is still swirling in the aftermath of his smoke laden nightmare. Castiel turns to look at his bedside clock that that cheerily informs him that he has overslept by several hours and is dangerously late for his morning shift at the fire house. He starts to bolt out of bed but the tang of singed paper and burnt flesh seem to cling to the air around him as the memory of the horrid smell is almost enough to send him dry heaving into his sheets. Behind him, the phone trills loudly in the late morning air. Castiel grudgingly picks up the receiver.

 

            “Hello?” he rasps into the phone.

 

            “Well good morning to you too, sweet cheeks. You sound like you had a fun night last night,” a smug and all too-gleeful Gabriel replies.

 

            “While your wit is amusing as always, was there are actual point to this call or is this solely for my punishment?” Castiel responds tiredly.

           

            “You’re about as fun as wearing wet sock Cassie, has anyone ever told you that?”

           

            Castiel sighs into the phone, “Gabriel honestly, just get to the point.”

 

            “Fine, since a bug has clearly crawled up your ass today…I just figured I would give my best pal a heads up that his little game of hooky didn’t go unnoticed by our dear captain this morning. Little Mikey was not pleased to say the least but I managed to convince him that you came in earlier with a horrible fever and that I sent you home to rest.”

 

            The breath that Castiel didn’t even realize that he was holding escaped out in a sudden blast. He hadn’t even had the chance to fully comprehend what his tardiness could have cost him today; he could have lost his job this morning if Gabriel had not been so inclined to come to his aid.

 

            “Helloooo, I can hear you having a mental breakdown over there and I believe a thank you is in order,” Gabriel practically yells over the phone.

 

            “I’m sorry for my behavior; it was irresponsible and will not happen again. It was unbecoming of me to have forced you into a position where you had to lie to cover my personal indiscretions,” Castiel replies forcefully.

 

            “It’s alright kiddo, you are entitled to a fricking day off every once in a while…just make sure you tell somebody about it first. I expect you there bright and early tomorrow morning though with a coffee as payment for my kindness.”

 

            “Thank you Gabriel and I will see you tomorrow morning.”

 

            “Ya ya whatever, now go do something fun with your day off. Live it up!” Gabriel calls as Castiel clicks to end the call.

 

            As he hangs up the phone, Castiel collapses backwards onto the bed, still feeling nauseous and shaken after both his horrifying dream and the panic that had set in once he realized he was late to work. The sweat seems to cling to his skin even in the cool air of his bedroom and his heart is still racing like it is determined to escape his chest. After a few moments of contemplation, he decides that a cold shower would be the best course of action to ease his mind and soothe his body. With a deep sigh, he rolls himself out of the disordered bed and shuffles slowly towards his shower down the hall.

 

            Much to Castiel’s irritation, the shower does little to calm his frayed nerves as the phantom heat from the flames still seem to dance underneath his skin as even after dosing himself in cold water. After standing under the icy stream for what seemed like hours desperately trying to rid himself of the fever racing through his body, he finally gives up and hauls himself out of the bathroom feeling even more frustrated than when he woke up. With a huff, he marches back down the hall to his bedroom to locate some suitable clothes.

 

            After locating a soft pair of old running shorts and a comfortable dark blue t-shirt of unknown origin, he heads downstairs on a quest for coffee which he hopes will shake off the last remnants of his nightmare. He makes his way into the kitchen to find the coffee waiting on the hot plate of the coffee machine as he grabs a mug and pushes the toaster button where two pieces of perfectly toasted bread fly out. Castiel finishes his breakfast in an almost perfunctory manner, eating solely so his body can continue to function normally. The toasted bread seemed to stick to the roof of his mouth with each bite that he took and the coffee seemed especially bitter today which further soured his mood. He abandons what’s left of his breakfast and shuffles his way towards his parlor; there at least the television screens will be able to block out the growing restlessness that still seethes within his bones.

           

            The parlor is a fairly small room towards the back of the house with three of its wall painted a dull gray and the remaining wall consisting of television screen which covers the entire side of the room. The furniture in the parlor is stiff and rigid as Castiel hardly ever used this room as he rarely has free time to waste away in front of the screen. He takes a seat on the uncomfortable brown couch that dominates the majority of the space within the room and flips on the screen which whirs to life with a riot of swirling colors. The screen lights up with the images of two clowns dressed in all white from head to toe in the middle of some sort of slap-stick gag which left Castiel wondering why other people thought that his form of comedy was worthwhile. He quickly flicked away from the alarming clowns, clicking aimlessly until he reached a different channel that seemed to broadcasting some sort national news transmission which immediately caught his attention.

 

            The room exploded into chaos as the screen was transformed by the images of bomb blasts that burst across the entire wall and was gone a second later as a parade of troops went filing by in a uniform march. After only a few more seconds, the soldiers disappear and are replaced with a smiling blonde woman who must be a reporter of some sort. Her ever-present smile continues to shine in its entire dazzlingly bleached luster as she reports the remainder of the previous story, though Castiel does not catch a single word of her speech. Distractedly, Castiel searches for the remote control in order to turn up the volume to catch the final bits of the news story.

 

…” _let’s all wish our brave soldiers across this nation a safe return home and for a quick end to this trivial squabble that has broken out. We should not forget the resounding success of our pilots during the last war and remember that our boys will be back before we know it…”_

             The nausea that had plagued Castiel since he awoke returned with a vengeance as he bolted out of the parlor and into the nearest bathroom as his stomach decided to empty itself of his meager breakfast. The acrid taste seemed to cling to his mouth as the images of both the flames from his nightmare danced alongside the explosions and never ending stream of soldiers from the parlor walls. He could not stop himself from picturing the horrible fates that awaited each one of those soldiers as well as the fates of those citizens whose lives would be cut short by the bombs that would inevitably fall. He sees the face of his cousin Gadreel, a recently enlist pilot, being one of thousands if not more lost in the oncoming war. He retched one last time and clung to the toilet while the waves of exhaustion continued to roll through his body.

 

               Slowly, Castiel pulls himself up onto wobbly feet and slowly makes his way back towards the kitchen to get himself a glass of water and to rinse the offensive taste out of his mouth. He fills his glass and meanders in the direction of his front windows that currently still have their curtains drawn closed, cloaking the rest of the room in darkness; he pulls them open to reveal quite a sight to behold.

 

              With his mouth slightly agape, he beholds his new neighbor bent over the hood of his beast of a car while apparently examining its engine, wearing a tight white undershirt with a well-worn pair of jeans that hug his ass just right. He stands there for a few minutes simply watching Dean’s movements and admiring the man’s effortless grace that he exudes while working away on his car. Suddenly, Dean turns to look towards the window where Castiel has been rooted. Although there is no possible way he could have seen him staring, Castiel slinks away from the window as the uncomfortable realization of how obscene his behavior had become sinks in. After making it halfway down the hall, he decides that in order to counteract his previous conduct, he must venture across the street to converse with Dean.

 

               He bustles out of the door and strides immediately to the spot right behind where Dean is currently buried deep within the bowels of his car, making some sort of alterations that Castiel does not understand. Out of nowhere, the memories of his abrupt conversation with Dean on his doorstep yesterday flood his mind and rapidly this plan is becoming more foolish by the minute; why would Dean want to converse with him after his uncouth behavior? He is about to turn away and cut his losses when the hunched over body in front of him begins to stand up.

 

“Hello Dean,” he mutters quickly.

 

“Holy fucking shit Cas, what do you think you’re doing? Don’t sneak up on people like that!” Dean sputters as he whips around to face Castiel.

 

“I apologize Dean; it was not my intentions to startle you while you were so engrossed in your work. I will leave you to it,” he replies hastily as he turns to walk way.

 

“Hey wait up!” he yells and reaches to grab Castiel’s arm before he can fully turn away. “You don’t have to leave; we just need to get you a bell or something so I can hear you coming. Besides, you weren’t interrupting anything anyways.”

 

              Faced with a thousand-watt smile from the gorgeous man in front of him, Castiel wonders briefly why Dean was acting so kindly towards him after his blatantly rude behavior just the day before. He finds himself melting on the inside from the warmth of that smile.

 

“If you say so Dean, I would hate to impose and hinder your tasks for today.”

 

“You aren’t hindering anything Cas, I’m just giving my baby here a quick tune up. She was sounding a bit under the weather last time that I drove her.”

 

“Your baby?” Castiel ponders.

 

“My baby is this beautiful piece of machinery you see before you today- a Chevy Impala in all her glory. She looks as good today as she did the day she rolled off the showroom floor,” Dean beams. It’s obvious the amount of pride that Dean has in his car, but it also seems to contains a large quantity of sentimental value as well judging by the way he fondly casts his eyes over the sleek black frame and its leather interior.

 

“Well she is quite stunning,” Castiel remarks. He glances down at all the toolbox and spare parts lying in the vicinity and asks, “Do you make all the repairs and conduct maintenance yourself then?”

 

“Of course I do,” Dean scoffs, “like I would let another greasy mechanic lay a finger on her.”

“So I take it you are a mechanic yourself? Why would you not trust a fellow tradesman to conduct the work?”

 

“Well first off, there’s a lot of scheming low-lifes out there that like to pretend their mechanics just to swindle you out of a few hundred bucks,” Dean begins, “but honestly, my baby is like family; she is the car I learned the basics on and she has been by my side for many _more memorable_ occasions. Hell, I barely trust my little brother with her and he _is_ family.”

 

“From what I can perceive, it looks like you have done a wonderful job. You must be a rather highly sought after mechanic if you can maintain a classic car such as this one with such ease.”

 

“I do well enough; I just got hired at a local shop not that far from here after my old boss made some calls when I told him I was moving,” Dean informs him. The man glances down at a well-worn wrist watch and suddenly swears.

 

“Shit Cas, I’m sorry but I’m going to have to cut this conversation short. It seems I lost track of time and have to be at work in 20 minutes. If you want, you could always come by the house sometime when me or Sammy are free for a little neighbor bonding.”

 

“I will have to arrange a visit then. I won’t keep you any longer Dean, thank you for indulging my company.”

 

“Nice talking with you too Cas,” Dean calls as he races towards his house. With their conversation drawn to a close, Castiel makes his way back to his own home slowly as he tries in vain to catch another glimpse of Dean.

 

               He enters his home and is greeted the chilled air that constantly pervades his house, no matter what season of the year. After taking only a few steps into the house, Castiel stops abruptly as he is faced with the reason why he acted so panicked yesterday during his short conversation with Dean. He bends down in front of an air conditioner vent that is at floor level and carefully unscrews the top two corners. With the grate to the vent loosened, he reaches behind the vent to find the object he had hidden there the night before and was responsible for the horrid nightmares that plagued his dreams.

 

                      He carefully removes the book from its hiding place and makes his way upstairs.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

 

 _One month later_ …

 

            Just as the sun is beginning to dip below the horizon, Castiel swiftly makes his way up his driveway and pauses just before entering his house. As he fumbles in his overcoat pocket for his house key, he takes a moment to observe the quiet street. The crimson leaves of the maple trees that line the street seem to spark and burst into flame with the last rays of the waning day light against the drab buildings that lined the street. His eyes glanced across the street to the Winchester household; he noticed the glaring absence of Dean’s prized vehicle from the driveway where it was normally parked in the evening. Over the past few weeks Castiel had become accustomed to seeing Dean outside either working on that black beast that is his car or performing some sort of yard work when he finally makes it home after a long day. They usually strike up some menial conversation about whatever topics grace their minds for a few minutes before Castiel excuses himself, frequently feigning exhaustion from a tedious day at work. Most of the time it is just the two of them discussing the topic of the day, but occasionally Dean’s brother Sam has joined in with his opinions which often align with Castiel’s views much to Dean’s chagrin.

 

Being slightly disappointed at losing his nightly conversation with his neighbor, Castiel makes his way into his darkened house where only the cool hiss from the air conditioner is there to greet him. He shrugs off his overcoat and hangs it on the coatrack near the front door. Carefully, he then unscrews the grill covering the air vent to retrieve his latest contraband book from its hiding place, all the while feeling like he is being watched like an insect under a microscope in his own home. Every time the books are out of their hideaway, Castiel can’t shake the notion that everyone he has ever met, from his own mother to the neighbors down the street, knows about his secret cache like his guilt is etched into his very skin. As quickly as he can, he retreats to his bedroom in the far recesses of his house where he can pretend that the prying eyes have disappeared.

 

He sets the unassuming book down on his large bed while he changes into a soft cotton shirt and comfortable sweats which feel like paradise after being stuck in his confining uniform all day. Castiel climbs into bed and carefully opens his newest addition. He managed to smuggle a copy of a story he’s vaguely heard of before, a play called Hamlet, which still vexes him no matter how many times he has reread its contents. As he drudges through it for the third time, Castiel can still not divine the author’s meaning hidden behind a prose that is long since been lost among the ashes of its burnt comrades and to the sheer indifference of this brave new world. Despite all this, this story strikes a chord deep within Castiel which leaves him with a grave feeling of unease; he cannot help but to compare his own condition to that of the title character as he too is compelled by the actions of his own long-dead father much like the ill-fated Hamlet. Since he was a child, Castiel had taken his father’s word as law, following every word that had come from the man’s mouth as divine law. While a few of his own brothers had chosen to rebel, he had adhered to the path his father had set him on and blindly followed in the man’s footsteps to become a fireman as well.

 

The sudden sound of screaming jets thunders from above his head, startling Castiel from his tangled thoughts. He glances down at the clock to realize that these contemplations have kept him awake until the wee hours of the morning and that dawn is only a few short hours away. With a sigh, he places the book onto his nightstand and turns off his light, hoping that sleep will not evade him tonight.

    -------- 

The room is unnaturally bright when Castiel awakes the next morning. The light streaming in from where he had forgotten to close the blinds on his single bedroom window seemed to be aimed right across his face. With a groan, he rolls himself out of bed and wanders down the hallway in a desperate search for caffeine. Fortunately, he finds the beautifully bitter nectar awaiting him when he enters the kitchen as he greedily pours what seems like half the pot into an oversized mug he pulled out of the cupboard. Amidst the stifling silence of the otherwise empty house, he slowly sips his coffee as he mentally details his tasks for this morning. Since it was a Wednesday, it meant that his work shift did not start until the early afternoon and he had plenty of free time to fill with “leisure” activities, not that he had many of those to begin with. He picks up the half-finished mug and meanders towards his front room. As he looks out the large window onto his front yard, he cannot fail to notice the deplorable shape that his garden has fallen into. The planters which lined the front of his house seemed to be filled with more weeds than the carefully chosen shrubs and flowers Castiel had planted at the beginning of the spring He didn’t even want to think about his small vegetable garden in the postage stamp sized backyard that was without a doubt in a similar state of disarray. Without much further consideration, the garden has turned into his project for the day.

 

After a quick change of clothes and another cup of coffee, Castiel is ready to tackle his horticultural maintenance. He steps out into the front yard into a crisp October morning, ready to let the simple task of ridding his garden of the irksome weeds occupy his mind and soothe his rather restless mind. As he is trying to determine his battle plan, his eye is caught by the gleam of certain car parked in his neighbor’s driveway; it is odd since Dean usually is at his job by this late in the morning. Casting the thought from his mind, he strode towards the particularly overgrown hydrangea bush where the large blue clusters of blooms hung low, threatening to block all sunlight to the neighboring plants. With a sigh, Castiel gets to work pruning. His mind goes mercifully blank while he clips each stray branch of the shrubs back into shape and removes the choking weeds from around the delicate flowers. Ever since he was little, he had grown up listening to his mother tell him stories of her own mother who grew up beyond the city limits among the broad-leafed trees and expansive farms that apparently covered the majority of the country. She grew up finding peace while exploring the understory in the neighboring forests and between the rows and rows of golden corn on the family land, making friends with the woodland spirits in her free time. While he thought himself decidedly more pragmatic than his grandmother, Castiel found that he also found solace among the few natural places that he could still find in the city.

 

As he slowly works his way through the detritus of dead leaves and suffocating weeds, he is shocked out of his meditative state by a large shadow that suddenly looms over his left shoulder. His interrupting guest clears his throat, finally getting Castiel’s attention.

“Well somebody is certainly busy this morning,” utters his guest in the deep rumble that could only belong to his gorgeous neighbor from across the street. His presence here certainly was a pleasant surprise as they had not conversed in a few days. Castiel slowly raises himself from a crouched position that he had no recollection of contorting himself into in order to face Dean.

 

“Hello Dean, it is good to see you,” Castiel informs his earnestly. It had been far too long since they last talked, and surprisingly he had missed his company. “What brings you across the street?”

 

“Honestly, I was going a little stir crazy and needed out of the house for a bit,” Dean stated with a smile. “One of the guys at the garage begged Bobby for more hours and I was already over hours for this week, so he gave me the day off.”

 

“You are very lucky then. Any plans for your day off?”

 

“Na, I’m probably just going to hang around the house doing some chores or some shit like that,” Dean says with a shrug. “What about you, aren’t you supposed to be at work by now hotshot?”

 

“Normally I would be, but today my shift doesn’t start till later this evening. I believe that the captain is still trying to punish me for my preoccupied behavior recently.”

 

“Seriously Cas, you always seem like Mr. Anal-Retentive to me...if that’s being distracted, I would hate to see the rest of your crew.”

 

“The majority of my coworkers are quite wonderful actually; though a few of them have a rather _unique_ sense of humor that only they seem to enjoy,” Castiel admits with a huff, “mostly at the expense of others.”

 

“Sounds like you work with a bunch of assholes, no offence.”

 

“Some of them are the closest thing I have to friends, so I have to agree with you on that topic.”

 

Dean lets loose a loud laugh that echoes in Castiel’s ears. Personally, he thinks it’s one of the most pleasant sounds that he has heard in who knows how long; its deep timbre resonating with something deep inside Castiel’s chest and seems to settle warmly in the pit of his stomach. He glances up at Dean’s face, and finds his lips moving but Castiel hasn’t caught a single word in at least a minute.

 

“…then Benny walks in and sees all that shit…Hey Cas, are you there buddy?” Dean suddenly asks as he realizes that Castiel has retreated into his own mind.

 

“Apologies Dean, I had a bit of a rough night I must admit,” Castiel quickly lies, “Please continue your story.”

 

“I was just sharing a story about the assholes that I work with, gotta love them. So yesterday about 30 minutes from the end of my shift…”

 

 _“Dean, let’s get a move on. We are gonna be late if we don’t leave now,_ ” Sam yells from across the street.

 

“Damn! Look Cas, I really gotta go but if you want me and Sam are having a little movie night tomorrow if you…umm… want to come over for a bit,” Dean asks rather shyly.

 

“I would love to attend, thank you for the invitation.” Castiel says with a smile.

 

“Cool, see ya then. Bye Cas!” Dean yells as he runs over to where Sam is still waiting.

 

He watches the brothers climb into their beast of a car and rumble down the street. After the car has disappeared from sight, Castiel remembers Dean’s invitation for the next evening and a cold panic sets in. “ _Does he seriously want my company or is he simply being polite? When was the last time I was even invited to someone’s home? How am I going to do this?”_ With these thoughts swirling inside his head, Castiel distractedly fumbles his way back into his house.

 ------ 

A few hours later Castiel arrives to the station with plenty of time to spare; he simply could not stand the claustrophobic silence inside his home any longer and fled as soon as he reasonably could. As he walked inside the squat, unsightly building, he is overcome with the unnerving feeling comparable to a thousand eyes scanning every inch of his body, like they know his treacherous secret. He makes his way up the stairs, trying desperately to tamp down his ever-increasing anxiety but failing miserably. With a determined sigh, he pushes open the door to the staff room to find all of his colleagues completely engrossed in a game of poker and unaware of his arrival.

 

            Without any incident, he places his personal effects inside the designated locker on the other side of the room and pours himself a cup of coffee, knowing it will be a long night. After he takes his first sip, his presence is finally discovered.

 

            “Well look what the cat dragged in boys, long time no see Cassie,” Gabriel’s voice rings out over the din. “We were beginning to think you didn’t like us anymore.”

 

            “Oh come off it Gabe, leave the poor boy alone. He only just got here,” Balthazar calls from his seat at the table where he is lounging like a wealthy tycoon on vacation. “Though I was beginning to wonder if we would ever see you again, an ever-punctual man like you missing an entire day is surely a sign of the apocalypse.”

 

            “While your sarcasm is greatly appreciated as always, I do realize that my absence yesterday was inexcusable and will not happen again,” Castiel informs the group with a sigh.

 

            “Ah hell, we were just giving you a hard time buddy. God knows you could actually use a break from this place every once in a while,” Gabriel returns with uncharacteristic sympathy in his tone.

 

            “I must admit that it was nice to have some time to myself, even if it…..”

 

            Castiel’s comment was harshly interrupted by shrill sirens and flashing lights that signaled that the time to burn was once again upon them. Secretly, a part of Castiel had hoped that tonight’s shift would be dull and peaceful so that he could possibly rid himself of the flames that continually danced behind his eyes while he slept, but an even larger part grew excited as he raced to don his fire-proof garments as this provided him with another opportunity to increase his growing book collection. He quickly dresses himself in the proper garments and rushes to meet the engine that is impatiently waiting for the crew downstairs.

 

            It takes only a matter of minutes to reach their destination, which left Castiel with little time to mentally prepare himself for the task at hand; his colleagues are still counting on him to perform his role to perfection as usual. With an undercurrent of apathy flowing through him as they enter the condemned house, Castiel swiftly begins to coat the house with the necessary dose of kerosene while the others make their way upstairs to root out the secret cache. A shout of affirmation echoes throughout the ill-fated house, informing all the others that the books have no doubt been discovered. He makes his way back to the living room where a small pile of the outlawed literature lays spread across the plush carpet; some appear brand new and painstakingly cared for while others seem frayed and lifeless. Castiel reaches down to rescue one of these tattered tomes from the pile and quickly places it into his newly created hiding spot.

 

            “Hey Castiel, get a move on! It’s time to light this baby,” someone calls from the front steps of the house. He impulsively grabs one more from the stack before heading towards the entryway.              

 

            With his two new additions to his collection tucked safely away in the deep folds of his large jacket, Castiel makes his way to the front lawn where the rest of the firefighters are gathered to admire their handiwork. The flames slowly begin to lick out of the doors and windows as their crimson tongues dance towards the inky black sky. As he watches the flames grow ever higher, the familiar grin creeps across his face but for a completely different reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm finally back and trying to finish this up! Thanks for sticking with me and for all the comments and kudos! Love you all!
> 
> P.S. my tumblr is quickwiththekerosene.tumblr.com so feel free to come say hi!


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